Epilogue: Silver
Just what the hell had he been thinking?
According to the five GPS satellites Argent Astor could see, it was 09:17:27.236747 UTC. In most of River City, it was “Chrissake, it’s four in the fuckin’morning.” In other, better parts, victory parties for Mayor Gleason would just be hitting their stride. The mayor had probably changed his suit by now. Setting off the sprinkler system at his victory speech had been petty, but it felt good.
As the Gleason victory had become more apparent, he’d sent Kendall Montaine away. Moved down into in the EM-quiet of the basement. Off to his left, blind cave fish swam in their tank. Astor was prehaps the only creature to see them as they saw themselves—lambent smudges, throwing off tendrils of electric field to probe their surroundings.
While the elections returns were coming in, Astor had pried the news about the other Aegis members out of Lodestar. Speaking from the wreckage of Aegis HQ, Quill answered as if he had Reality on the other line and Astor was butting in to offer a better long-distance plan. The pauses between the younger man's clipped replies got longer and longer, and Astor could hear the anger swelling behind the words. Quill was in deep shock, but Astor was in no mood to play psychologist.
After Lodestar had pretty much shut down, Astor watched him through one of the few onsite cameras that was still functional. In the harsh glare of the emergency lights, Matthew would stand unnaturally still for long periods, then suddenly rouse himself and start wrestling with some piece of the rubble. Lodestar could have flicked the piece aside with a low power retrusion blast, but Matthew Quill was using only his hands.
In the quiet darkness, Astor welcomed the bite of the Laphroaig as it splashed against the back of his throat.
Thought of Archer, shuddered. Couldn’t stop.
Another quick swallow, mumbled another prayer. Could Astor have found this Enigma, stopped the whole thing before its horrible end? Just where was he supposed to have looked? He wanted to think that Archer had ported out in time, was waiting somewhere. But where Black Archer's communicator should be in the Aegis network there was only a gaping hole that the wind blew through, making the sound of static.
Just what the hell had he been thinking, that day?
************
“Well, I’ve gone over your test results, and I’ve consulted with your surgeon. I don’t see any reason to pursue a more aggressive options at this time. I’m certain that the combination of medications should serve you well for the next six to eight months. I’d like to follow up at that point, of course. How are you feeling? Are you cutting back on the fat in your diet?”
A low growl came from phone. Astor idly watched the current flowing through the speaker.
“Well, keep trying. I’m sure it’s difficult, but it’s better than going under the knife again.
“Thank you, Mr. Vice President. That’s very kind.
“Yes. It’s been an honor. Good-bye.”
Putting down the phone, he leaned back into the embrace of the leather cushion and rubbed the sharp bridge of his nose. His special senses allowed him to see into the body with a resolution finer than a CAT scan. Valve problems or infarcts he could diagnose at a glance. He could even watch the waves of electrical activity as they rolled over the heart, causing it to beat. But coronary occlusion cases were trickier. He couldn’t resolve details finely enough to see into the smaller vessels, and he had to fall back on the same tests that any other diagnostician would use.
He activated the micro-recorder, began his notes.
“Patient presents as a 62-year-old white male…”
It had been the usual leisurely day at the office, marred only by a malfunction of one of the of the building’s elevators. The commutator of one of the motors was arcing, and the intermittent squawk it made in his electrical sense was giving him a headache.
The annoyance was all part of the new galaxy that had slowly swum into existence after his accident, lightening and ultimately banishing the murk of blindness into which he had been plunged.
He could now sense material objects out to a distance of several hundred feet by the variations in their dielectric properties, seeing their internal structures and inside closed objects. The most solid steel was an insubstantial fog, and a tree was a marvelous complex of internal engineering.
He could no longer see the blue sky, was beginning even to forget what blue was. Like a dome of particolored glass, the background to him was a kaleidoscopic hum of electric and electromagnetic activity. Across the spectrum, from the ultraviolet into the X-rays, from infra red into the long waves of radio, the technological world’s myriad activities glowed in colors he had never known, and to which he gave private names. With time, he found he could even tune into and understand broadcasts. And not just listen, but generate and control.
But foremost in this new universe were the flickerings of bioelectricity in living things. He saw people as sparkling balloons of fire riding atop their skeletons--glowing , evanescent webs of memory and volition, perception and response swirling around in calcium cases. As he grew used to watching the sparks of activity in the brains of those around him , and by keeping abreast of the neuroscience literature, he had even learned to hone in on specific areas of the brain. By looking for the area that became active when people made up lies, he could detect falsehood. From watching his judo tutor, he had figured out which part of the brain lit up just before the other man made a move. It him gave a useful edge.
The intercom squawked. “Dr. Astor, your 10 o’ clock just canceled.”
And into the bubble of his parasense, there came something he had never seen, for long seconds could not even fathom. His mouth fell open as the recorder bounced off the Persian carpet.
A pillar of fire was gliding down the street, some eight stories below. “Sweet Jesus,” he breathed, and for a moment he was back in Sunday school, seeing the cloud of angry colors that led the Israelites out of captivity.
But he could tell by the motions of the other people on the street that they saw nothing amiss—no one was trying to flee. A personal revelation? For him, of all people? Focusing carefully on the pillar’s surroundings he noticed something that made his mouth twist up on one side. It seemed unlikely that the Lord or His emissary would travel via cross-town bus.
He had to see whatever this was. LaTreiya (kids these days, with the names) was at the reception desk, so he couldn’t just run out. He wasted precious seconds picking up his silver cane and heading for the door at the normal pace for blind man in a habitual space. By reflex, he reached out with his mind for the elevator’s firefighter cutout, intending to send a car directly to his floor to meet him.
Unusually for this time of day, all the cars had occupants, and were traveling downward.
By this time, the thing had dismounted the bus. It was making a beeline for--his building.
Astor had reached the elevator by now and stood, waiting for a car. He focused and the figure took on clarity. It was like a diagram of the human nervous system limned in flame.
Whoever it was swept into the building. As if it had been choreographed, an elevator snapped open, emptied, and the figure stepped in without breaking stride. When it reached his floor, the man inside stepped out and turned directly to face him.
“Dr. Astor. How fortunate that you're able to see me.”
Phrases floated through Astor’s mind from that first conversation with the White King.
“…an opportunity to use your talents in a wider arena…”
“ …a chance to make a difference to the people of the city….”
“ Change is coming. You can lead it. But you have to make the first move.”
In the prior months, Astor had convinced himself that some of King’s statements were veiled references to the election campaign, even though that intention wouldn’t form in his mind for months. Astor had run over and over omnin his memory the King’s oracular phrasing, until he’d convinced himself that the man had been telling him vthat vistory would be his. It was one reason he’d been so confident.
The King could have been delusional, could have been out-and-out lying. The man’s entire nervous system was constantly active, there was no way Astor could tell one way or the other. And although the doctor could watch the individual muscle fibers twitch in the other man’s cheeks and jaws, the nature of his special sense had robbed him of the ability to read faces. The finely honed machinery of the brain that could decipher meaning and nuance in the tilt of an eyebrow, a shift in jawline, or the droop of an eyelid lost all these clues when Astor gained the ability to see what went on beneath the surface.
What convinced Astor that the King was speaking the truth was something the King never said, not straight out. But well before the conversation ended there was no doubt in Astor’s mind of it, a truth that made him shiver when it hit.
King never mentioned Astor’s impairment, never once treated him as if he were blind. There were none of the awkward efforts of assistance, none of the fumbling solicitousness he usually got from the sighted. Moreover, the King pushed back his chair well away from Astor’s desk, as if he knew that Astor’s unique view of people's internals led the doctor to keep others at a distance. All the while he talked, King kept his eyes on Astor’s.
The King knew Astor was not blind. And he knew that Astor knew.
****************************
Astor had tried to imagine what the White King’s thinking might be like. Thinking with all of his brain, all of the time, at that speed. Could the White King have predicted that Astor would join Aegis, become intimidated by the other heroes, and then decide to run for mayor? But if Astor was going to lose, what was the purpose? Was this all some monstrous combination shot—the white cue ball hits the eight ball, banks it off two cushions, but doesn’t sink it. Somewhere along the line, the black ball had hit another ball. And that was the one that the White King was really aiming at. Not some messed up black doctor with a vision problem.
He wished he knew what the White King had been thinking, that day.
Ah, shit.
“A jackass stunt.” The voice came from the black and white photo of his parents on the second floor. “Another jackass stunt.” That had been his father’s phrase for a lot of Astor’s choices Yes, Lucius, you warned me about mountain climbing. Yes, Lucius, you told me to never get involved in politics. Yes, I saw what happened to Judge Linnear. Yes, Dad, I…failed.
But it was close, Lucius.
Polytropos’s ploy probably would have pushed it over.
He felt foolish, ashamed for all his suspicions of Jason. Jason, who was willing to frame himself for murder to get Silver the mayor’s race. Jesus. Wouldn’t want to be Gleason, with someone that dedicated out there. Astor owed him big time. At least Polytropos would still be out there, helping people. Hmph, would probably do more in four years than Mayor Astor ever could have. Maybe Astor could help out, from time to time. Here’s to Polytropos.
Another refill.
And Oni. A wan smile curled Astor’s lips despite himself. The human wrecking crew. Well, part human. Wherever he goes, things get broken. Heart in right place. Wait. Has heart? Yeah, other one, grey one, doesn’t have heart. Oni has demon. Well, Oni Gleason’s problem now, too.
Man, guy—no, god--decked Oni. Astor had been shaken to see Oni go down before Heracles furious assault. Good thing not the kid there. Tried to tell Matthew kid shouldn't be there, gonna get hurt one of these days.
Won’t turn self into signal ‘gain soon. Too hard..too tempting to stay.
When the taste of the whiskey in his mouth turned flat and chemical, he knew he’d had just enough too much. Stood up, wobbled toward the stairs.
Blind fish, blind fish. Maybe get ‘nother tank? Something brighter. Clownfish, ha, ha.
But there was one thing he had to do before he slept.
That morning, the the street scavengers were delighted to find the expensive pool table on the sidewalk in front of the crazy doctor’s place. It was gone long before Astor Argent awoke.
